Italian Novel Novels & Stories

"The cars are all set and we're ready to go." "Perfect," I reply, "tell everyone to load up then." He nods his head before he goes off. I head to the car that I'll be taking with Luca and get in the driver's seat. This is a fight I'm dreading, but the funny thing is, is that I've never felt this way before about a fight. Elle is really doing a number on me. So my plan for the next couple days is to push her to the back of my mind and not get distracted to I can come back to her. Translations: figlio- son capo- boss signore- sir

’ Josef answered surprised, not believing his brother. ‘Seriously, go on say a title of a book and I’ll tell you what it’s about.’ Hadrian answered putting the book aside. ‘Alright then.’ Josef answered thinking of a title. ‘The Betrothed.’ ‘A novel by the Italian Alessandro Manzoni,’ Hadrian answered instantly. ‘It’s a story about Renzo and Lucia who wanted to get married but was forbidden by Don Rodrigo. Why? Because Don Rodrigo has his eyes on Lucia.

“You and your inner self. You seemed to be having a very heated and interesting discussion.” “Don’t make fun of my little Italian.” “You called me little Italian?” he couldn’t believe the coolness with which that woman expressed herself. He had a feeling that, if he spent a day alone with her, locked in a house, he was likely to end up gagging her. “Would you rather Italianate? It’s really all the same to me. You think you’re funny and smart, you’re going to tell me you’ve never seen someone talking to themselves?” “I’m not saying I haven’t seen anyone; I’m saying it’s crazy.”

I poured myself a glass of water and drank it in one go. Alessandro "The Devil" Costello, El Padrino. I shook my head, nope, not going to believe it unless I talk to him myself. I made my way out of the kitchen and went straight to the library. Since I had nothing to do, I settled on reading a book. I surveyed the huge library and finally found a book that seemed interesting enough to read. "Mafia and Mafiosi by Henner Hess" With a book in my hand, I walked back to Alessandro’s seat to read but halted in my steps as I saw him already sitting on it.

She muttered and he chuckles. “ Wait till you see it from above,but first,let's get some gelato.” Seeing him like this made her want to forget how she had gotten here. He seems like an ordinary and harmless Italian guy. Fun and flirty but she knew the man beneath the fascade. He slip his hand into her tugging gently and she followed him as they joined a line at a small gelateria. Yasmine chose a pistachio and lemon while Luca went for dark chocolate. They strolled with cones in hand weaving through the crowds until the Ponte Vecchio came into view

I left without another word, as the doors closed behind us, Fabrizio called out, “Replace the guards you killed. I'd love to use some of your skilled men." Eleven hours. Is that how long it takes to create chaos that would cross continents? We had been on a flight of eleven hours, the least I expected from Italy was a new about me dating a girl I don't even know. A lowlife. They're pairing my name with hers, a girl I've never seen. “Book the earliest flight to Italy. Find her and bring to me,” Andrei nodded and before we could take a step, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and stretched the phone towards me, " Il Padrino.”

Her name was Annalisa, short for Anna, which she preferred being called, yet she liked it—she liked when he called her Peach. Anna took her lips in, sighing inaudibly as her eyes fell on the books that sat idle on the table. Last night, he had brought the books that she had been trying to reach for that day at the library: Learning Italian for Beginners. Most times, it was his nice acts that made her want to go mad, like that day he took her to the hospital… No! She shouldn’t be thinking about this. She shouldn’t be thinking about him, even if he had burned the necklace Domenico had gotten for her, only to replace it with an exact replica.

(The girl who ran from hell) “She thought she was running from her demons. She didn’t know one of them had learned her name.” The story begins… Milan was in her bedroom, reading a steamy Mafia romance novel when noise from downstairs pierced through her subconscious. She flinched as the door slammed closed, dreading the reality that her husband is finally back home from his long business trip. Gripping the hardback in her already trembling hands, she anticipated his yells, demanding where the fuck she was.

*** We spent the afternoon at the bookstore down the street, because of course Alessio had to prove that he could, in fact, pick a better novel than I could. He was wrong. Obviously. “You can’t seriously think this is better than Austen,” I said, holding up my book in triumph. Alessio crossed his arms, giving me that infuriating smirk. “Rosa, The Count of Monte Cristo is a masterpiece.” “It’s long.” “It’s revenge.” I snorted. “Why am I not surprised?” His smirk widened. “What can I say? I have a type.” I arched a brow. “And what type is that?”

Fiction in languages she couldn't all read. Her finger stopped on a French novel, the spine creased and soft with handling. "You speak French?" "And Italian." He pulled a slim volume from the shelf and tucked it under his arm — and his finger had stopped moving along the spines for just a second before he pulled it out, just one beat, like the next sentence had snagged somewhere on the way and he'd had to push past it. "My mother was Italian. She taught me before she left." He said it without pausing. Without making it a moment.